Under Locke (30 page)

After giving me instructions on where the towels were and how to use the tricky hot water, Dex dumped my
bag
in the standard guest bathroom with a tub blocked off by a neat blue and green striped curtain. I took a quick shower and pulled a brush through my hair before throwing it up into a ponytail. I bumbled out, still half-asleep to find Dex sitting on the couch watching television with my neatly folded blanket and pillow to his side.

“Ready,” I yawned.

He glanced up, looked back at the TV screen for half a second before darting his attention back at me. Well, specifically my legs. In my haste hours before, I’d thrown random clothes together. Apparently, I’d dug into my NSFW—not safe for work—clothing. All I’d found in the bag were shorts, yoga pants, and the three denim mini-skirts I owned. The mini-skirts were a memory of the heat and humidity in south Florida. Heat and humidity that I swear Austin compared to.

And there was no money in the world that would get me to wear one of my skirts when I was stuck riding on the back of Dex’s bike.

So my short shorts it was.

By the length of time it took Dex to stop looking at my—thankfully—shaved legs, I’d gone from being flattered to uncomfortable. The only time people stared at me that intently were when they were looking at my arm. An arm that I'd thankfully managed to subconsciously pack smartly enough for by grabbing a handful of elbow-length cardigans. “I’m ready,” I repeated.

“Right.” He stood up, huffing under his breath while turning off the television, and then striding toward the door. He gave me another sidelong glance. "You might wanna take that sweater off. It'll be pretty hot outside in no time on my bike."

Shoot. I hadn't even thought of that. I only had a tank top beneath the cardigan and...
yeah
. I'd rather have pit stains than pitiful looks. "I'll be fine."

Dex looked like he wanted to argue with me but luckily he dropped the issue.

The ride back into town was silent, and I got to appreciate the scenery of what was outside the Austin city limits. Except for traffic and pollution, and the feel of Dex’s bare bicep and forearm touching my knee every few minutes, the ride back was fine.

“Where are we going?” I asked him at a stoplight once we were back in the city.

He tilted his head to the side, talking loudly over the roar of the bike. “Luther’s place,” he answered. “You remember him?”

I nodded, reminded of the time I’d taken the
package
over to him and the night I’d caught him fondling up a twenty-something. Yet again, still friggin’ gross.

We pulled into a large two story red brick home in an upper middle class neighborhood. The same truck we’d taken to Austin was parked in the driveway alongside a Harley that looked differently than Sonny and Dex’s. As soon as he’d gotten off the bike and helped me off too, knocking on it so loud I’m sure the neighbors heard.

The door opened up much quicker than I woul
d ha
ve expected with a disheveled looking Luther standing there bare-chested and bleary-eyed.

“Jesus, Dex,
you know it’s my day off,
it’s too early for this shit.”

Dex’s broad shoulders shifted tightly beneath the plain white tee he had on. Someone was on the verge of being a grumpy butt. “Sonny took off last night.”

Luther let out a long and drawn out sigh from between his lips before waving Dex—and me by default—inside. “What do you mean he took off?"

"He's goin' to look for Curt, Lu. Took Trip with him."

The older man's features tightened, his jaw locking right before he rubbed a big palm over it roughly. "Fuck."

"What do you expect? You saw him at Seton. You know what those pieces of shit will do if they don't get paid."

It didn't escape me that they both glanced at me as Dex spoke the last sentence.

I might have flinched just a little inside.

Luther groaned again, scrubbing both hands over his face. When he dropped his palms, he slowly turned to look at me. It hit me right then that the older man had the same sky blue eyes Trip did. Huh.

"Honey, don't go anywhere without one of the club members with you."

The second time in my life that the "Prez" had spoken to me and he was warning me. The urge to go visit Lanie was right smack on my forehead, but I knew I shouldn't.

Dex let out a long sigh. “I got this. Don’t worry about it,” he assured the older man.

I, on the other hand, had a really bad feeling about this.

~ * ~

“Who are those guys?” I asked Dex over breakfast.

After we left Luther’s house, we’d loaded back on the bike and made our way over to a diner nearby. We squeezed into a booth across from each other and ordered breakfast in a murmur of low requests.

Dex looked up at me as he shoveled half of a breakfast sausage into his mouth. “What guys?” He even had the nerve to look around the diner like I’d be asking about any other guys besides the ones who had taken Sonny.

“The guys at the
bar
. The ones my dad owes money to,” I explained, eyeing the dark circles under his radiant blue eyes. Dex had some seriously thick eyelashes.

He chewed on only one side of his mouth, eyeing me wearily. “They're another club in SA."

That was something I already knew.

“They don’t like us," he added vaguely.

You have got to be kidding me. “They don’t like you guys?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t like you guys so they beat up Sonny instead of looking for our dad?” I could smell his bullshit a mile away.

He knew I had him, so he nodded his answer. “It's more complicated than that, Ritz. They're all Widows
’
rejects. They'll try to start shit with us for whatever reason they can come up.”

"Explain that."

He lifted a brow. "Explain what?"

"What do you mean by them being rejects?"

Dex sighed, his mouth twisting. "Your pa never told you this?"

I gave him a flat look.

"You know the Original 12?" he asked.

I shook my head, earning another sigh. "They were the first Widowmakers. Twelve pissed off vets. Tough as shit, hated every single thing about the government. My granddaddy on my ma's side was one."

That made a heck of a lot of sense. One badass passing on the gene to another badass.

Dex kept going with his story. "They got into shady shit. Drug runnin', enforcin', shit that gets everybody into trouble." He shook his head. "Gets people killed, babe, but what the
hell
did they care? I remember my granddaddy was cool as fuck but he wasn't right. None of 'em were."

I suddenly had the urge to find out what Dex considered as "not right." Then again, I probably didn't want to.

"As the club grew with more and more assholes wantin' in on the money and the respect and the ass, they got into more shit. Girls—"

Prostitution?

"—bad shit,
Ritz
. Years, that was the way things were run. Once the 12 were all too old to give a fuck, Luther took over the club. He knew we were in deep with the Mexicans when he took over. Some of the brothers were gettin' restless, sloppy. They wanted more money, more drama. More, more, more, more.
T
hen, a run got fucked up. The Mexicans got pissed, and took care of Luther's wife in retaliation."

I made a face that earned me a slow nod of understanding from Dex. Even hearing it again after so many years, it sounded just as terrible.

"Yeah, babe. It was bad. I was a little pimple-faced shit back then but I remember. Lu lost his fuckin' mind. I mean, lost it. He made it his mission to clean us up after that. The club was all cash capital back then. He wanted to open up businesses and make the money legit. It was a good plan. Better for everybody even if the money wasn't goin' to be as good first, it would've worked. The problem was, not everybody wanted to get clean."

That I could understand. Men living in their own little world with no regard for society, making money, scaring the shit ou
t
of people? It made sense though it didn't seem like a life I'd want to live.

"There were more brothers who wanted to get clean after Darcy's death than not. It scared the fuck out of everybody with families, babe. They saw that Lu had his shop. It'd never been tied up with club finances. Lotta members left when the club voted to try the clean way. They left but they were pissed. Felt like they'd gotten fucked over, and men like that don't get over shit. Ever. They all hooked up, started up the Reapers."

And then I winced. I could understand why the men would
ha
ve held a grudge. I did. They'd join the WMC for one reason and then that reason had morphed into something completely different. After everything they'd lost—friends and family—they'd gotten kicked out.

"It took a couple years but the MC bought the bar. Lu wasn't starvin' for money and he financed us buyin' an auto parts store." He lifted a shoulder like the conclusion was inevitable. "That didn't help the situation out."

"I bet."

"Just the way shit is."

I tried to process everything he'd explained. Why the Reapers hated the Widowmakers. Why they'd be such jackasses. But there was one thing about his explanation that didn't make any sense.

"Why did they let my dad borrow money if he was a Widow?" Right?

Dex slid a piece of pancake between his lips, his dark blue eyes hooded. "No clue, babe. Maybe they were expectin' him not to pay up. Who knows."

Well, shoot. That didn't add up but it wasn't like I could hound Dex for an answer he didn't have.

“I just don't get it, I guess. Neither one of us is close to him," I didn't need to be specific about who him was. "He won't give a crap about either one of us paying for his mistake.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, disappointment and sadness pierced my belly.

It was the truth. The awful truth. Curt Taylor wouldn't give a shit about his son getting beaten up. Getting a freaking concussion and left behind at a freaking park. Alone. Unconscious.

Just as quickly as the sadness had poked at me, it disappeared, replaced by pure anger. It was red and hot and just... dark. And I hated it. Hated that I could feel so
much disdain
toward a man that I should
ha
ve loved.

A man that shoul
d ha
ve loved me.

Should
ha
ve loved his sons.

"Babe," Dex murmured, reached out to place a hand on my forearm. "Baby, quit it."

"Quit what?" I asked him in a gloomy voice.

He squeezed my forearm. "Quit thinkin' about him. I already told you that prick's not worth you gettin' upset."

How the hell did this man know what I'd started thinking about?

I had to swallow back that weird feeling and try to plaster a smile onto my face. "I wasn't—"

"You were."

Crap. I sighed. "I know he's not worth it but it still just... gets me.
” My fingers flexed around the silverware I was holding.
“
I want to punch him in the nuts so bad."